


Grimmauld Place

by Strega7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strega7/pseuds/Strega7
Summary: A chance encounter of Snape and Hermione when she and the gang are hunting horcruxes and staying at Grimmauld Place.  Smut ensues.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 21
Kudos: 394





	Grimmauld Place

_Hermione, Ron and Harry have arrived at Grimmauld Place during their hunt for horcruxes. There is nothing romantic going on between Hermione and Ron. Snape shows up unexpectedly._

  
  


Their eyes locked and they both froze. She had fallen asleep on the library couch of Grimmauld Place. She’d heard someone enter the room and startled from her dozing. She thought maybe it was Harry or Ron… but, it most definitely wasn’t. Snape was the last person she’d expected to see. 

They stayed standing, just looking at each other for what felt like an eternity. Neither were sure what to do next; whether to run or call for help or confront. Then she noticed his eyes flicked down to her shirt. Just for a split second. Glancing down she saw her nipples protruding sharply beneath the thin white cotton fabric of her t-shirt. She flushed, realizing what had caught his attention. She was surprised to realize that him noticing her attributes as a young woman did not disgust her. In fact, it stirred a curiosity in her. Did Snape find her attractive? Was he as human as the next man? Did he long to kiss or fuck like anyone else? She’d never seen him reveal that side of himself before. As a man. And, he was a man, not a boy, which for some reason held an underlying appeal for her. 

All these thoughts rushed through her head in the second it took her to look down and back up again. And when their eyes met again, her look held inquiry, even as his remained impassive. She’d always been too curious. 

“Shouldn’t you be screaming for help?” He queried in a slow, low voice. 

She wondered, _should she be?_ He was a reinstated Death Eater, his true loyalties finally revealed, the murderer of Albus Dumbledore. _Allegedly,_ she thought. But after hearing all the details of what had happened that night on the Astronomy Tower, and after reflecting for a while, she’d decided that it came down to two possible conclusions. 

Albus Dumbledore trusted Severus Snape. He had time and time again insisted on the trustworthiness of Severus Snape. So, either Severus Snape was a _truly_ masterful actor and was able to fool the genius of Albus Dumbledore, supreme manipulator and puppeteer (yes, she’d come to that conclusion a while ago), _or_ Albus Dumbledore _could still_ trust Severus Snape. If he were still alive, that is. Hermione knew that dark curses could not be contained forever. And Dumbledore‘s hand most certainly had contained a dark curse. She also concluded that Severus Snape was probably the only reason the headmaster had lived as long as he did. After learning about both Snape’s ability to create dark curses like sectumsempra, as well as his ability to counter or heal them, as he’d done for Malfoy, she was pretty sure that he had _saved_ Dumbledore‘s life, at least for a time. Probably as much time as he could give him. Which meant… she could trust him too. _Probably._

Also the fact that he had not instantly incarceroused her and dragged her before the Dark Lord was a point in favor of this theory. She had no doubt he could have, as well as captured Harry and Ron before they even knew what was happening, as he clearly had inferred they were somewhere here in the house with her. The war would be over before it began, and not in favor of the side of light. 

“Why did you come back here?” She finally found her voice, though it came out husky from sleep. 

He looked at her again, this time more evaluating. She assumed he was wondering why she wasn’t reacting the way she was supposed to. Screaming, jinxing, calling him a murderer. 

She raised her eyebrow at him, his own signature move and he snorted. The sound seemed to surprise both of them and some of the tension went out of the room. He strolled into the library, shutting the door firmly behind him, moving directly to a bookshelf in the corner where he pulled out a thick tome and extracted a bottle of amber liquid hidden in the space behind it. Replacing the heavy book he conjured two glasses and poured a measure into one tumbler. Raising his eyebrow back at her he lifted the bottle, and to her own surprise she nodded. He poured hers and then turned towards one of the upholstered wingbacks and sank into it with an exhaustion she had not seen him ever display so openly before. 

“Long day at the office?” She couldn’t help herself. 

His eyes remained closed and he inhaled deeply. She didn’t think he was going to respond, but after a beat he drawled, “You have no idea.” 

Her lips tipped into a small smile. “Boss being an asshole again?” 

This time she thought she saw his lips twitch. 

As he sat there, she studied him, this new strange Severus Snape. This man who was treating her like she was a colleague and adult. Which, she supposed she was. Both his colleague in their missions, and an adult. Young compared to him, but adult, nonetheless. Both caught up in the chaos of war and both carrying heavy burdens. She watched him take another sip of the whiskey, eyes still closed, his face unexpectedly relaxed, allowing his features to look more distinguished, less severe. Usually his face had a hardened austere look to it, but tonight he just looked like a man. A very tired man.

He cracked one eye to glare at her, apparently feeling her eyes scrutinizing him. But when he did, she noticed his glance again dropped momentarily down to her chest again. So fast she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been looking for it. This time she didn’t blush, but held his gaze. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she had a strange desire to see what would happen if she pursued this surprising line of inquiry. She was tired too. And lonely. And scared _all the time_. Maybe she was feeling a little reckless tonight. 

He looked away, sipping again at his drink. 

“When the Order abandoned this place, it became my fortress of solitude.” Here one corner of his lips tipped up, and Hermioine smothered her shock to hear the muggle comic reference roll off his tongue. “The Order wasn’t coming back, and they assumed I wouldn’t either. Or if I did I’d find their little farewell gifts. And the Dark Lord‘s forces couldn’t get in because I had been cursed with a langlock specific to sharing the secret of Grimmauld’s location, and I convinced them I couldn’t apparate them here; it became the only safe place I had where I was not watched or constrained by my duties.” He let the last words drop off his tongue like they left a bad taste. 

“We assumed no one would be able to get in here either. We hoped Lex Luther wouldn’t have gotten in, though we didn’t know about the langlock beforehand.” Hermione decided to go with his comic reference. “Of course, I wasn’t as worried as the boys about whether or not _you_ could get in. I’m guessing the langlock was your idea?”

She could have sworn there was a smirk in his eyes, but he studied her, his expression otherwise unreadable. 

“ _You_ weren’t worried that I might come here?” His voice was low and smooth, and she wasn’t sure what undercurrent was running beneath the words, but there was definitely something in it. 

She stared at him boldly, her stomach knotting slightly as he returned her gaze levelly. “I wasn’t.”

After a few seconds something in his gaze changed. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was like that time at the zoo when she had suddenly noticed the lion that had been avidly watching her from behind the glass. She had this man’s attention now, and suddenly it did feel like being watched by a big cat. But without the glass. 

She shivered, her nipples puckering further, and something in his look sharpened. 

“Are you cold?” There was that same strange note in his voice again. “The whiskey should help warm you up soon.” He motioned to the fire and it flared, casting more warmth into the room. 

She shook her head before realizing that it made her breasts jiggle, but she didn’t try to cover them. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but adrenaline was starting to wind through her veins, her breathing growing shallow. She bit her lip nervously, a warm sensation pooling in her lower abdomen, a tickling arousal. What was she doing, was she really attracted to Severus Snape? She had to admit though, this was a different man than the one she used to know. He still had all the qualities she’d admired, but he’d let drop his facade of unpleasantness, revealing a human beneath. And, she suspected that he had probably been working for the side of good a lot longer and with a lot more sacrifice than she had ever imagined. And this relaxed Snape, this one that let her glimpse the man and not just the mask… this Snape was actually kind of _sexy._ And gods knew she’d grown up a bit since she last saw him. Death, battle, loss, hiding her parents, living on the run. It certainly had changed her. Sobered and aged her in a way she would never have anticipated. 

He poured himself another dram of whiskey. Then, he looked at her more forthrightly, this time letting his gaze travel up and down her form more openly. Hermione had had men and boys sometimes look at her like that before, but usually she just ignored it. Or felt embarrassed. It had never made her skin flush or her blood warm as it was doing now. In a very arousing way. He seemed to be gauging her response. She suddenly felt self-conscious of her scandalously scant attire: braless beneath her t-shirt, soft cotton lounge-shorts that were entirely too short to be decent in public. They were never meant to be seen outside of Gryffindor’s girls dormitory or by anyone other than her two best guy friends. And she definitely usually wore a bra around even them. Her legs suddenly felt too bare. Her skin prickled at the thought that he was now seeing her so inappropriately dressed. It was intimate. It crossed lines that had long ago been constructed to keep them at a distance. Blurred divisions that had once been clear. The library wasn’t a bedroom, but it felt like she had somehow invited this version of Professor Snape into her bedchamber. 

He watched her and she thought again of feline imagery. She sipped some more at the firewhiskey. It seemed to be pooling warmth there in her stomach along with her arousal. She decided that she needed to move around a little, clear her head. She stood up and felt lightheaded. It appeared that her blood had been retreating from her brain in order to supply areas lower in her body. She walked over to one of the bookshelves, studying the spines there. Her back was to him, and she did this partly because she needed a moment to recover herself, without his scrutinizing gaze, and partly because she knew that he would be checking out her backside from where he sat. She ran her fingers across the ancient leather of the books and shifted her stance, aware of how the fabric of her shorts brushed her upper thighs

  
  


“So how is old Vol-” Hermione started to ask, turning her head towards Snape, but a hand clamped over her mouth mid-word and his voice hissed in her ear. 

“Do not say his name!” Hermione’s whole body stiffened. He must have already moved closer to her while her back was turned, or he never would have reached her before she got the name out. She could feel his hard body behind her and the familiar notes of his particular scent clouded around her. She could detect crushed herbs, a hint of vanilla, something minerally, and a trace of bergamot. His breath tickled her ear and she could feel his lips move against it. 

"The Dark Lord has placed a taboo on the name. It breaks all protective enchantments. It would bring his servants here in moments. Do _not_ say his name, brave little Gryffindor.” 

Even as the meaning of the words sunk in, having his voice reverberate against the shell of her ear sent a shiver sliding down her spine. His hand was warm and smooth, firmly pressed over her mouth. His dark hair hung down and tickled at her clavicle. He inhaled slowly through his nose, and she wondered what he thought she smelled of. His arms seemed to momentarily tighten his grip around her body, before relaxing again. She had never been this close to him before. And now having seen him in this new light, his closeness made her pulse race. She tried to take a deep breath through her nose, but his proximity seemed to be making it hard to breathe. 

She closed her eyes and could feel every point of contact along their bodies and where they touched, it was like her nerves were over-functioning and tingling, making her aware of every sensation. She could feel his fingers closed over her lips, dampening with her breath against them. She could feel his arm as it came around her right shoulder, clamping her body to his. She could feel his other arm that had constricted around her side and rested across her sternum, just below her breasts. She could feel the solidity of his chest where it pressed against her shoulder blades, and she could feel the press of his hips to her ass. She pushed back fractionally and she felt his sharp intake of breath. She thought she detected a low growl.

She was indeed feeling reckless. She wasn’t thinking through her actions, but acting impulsively, probably quite foolishly. She would have scoffed if this were a story involving anyone else. She was paying more attention to how her body was responding than whether or not this was a terrible idea. But for the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop and think. It just felt so good to _feel._ Focusing on the sensations in her body was shutting off her brain, and for the first time she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. She was so damned tired of thinking. And something about Snape, despite his status as potential enemy and whose motives were not yet fully known, he made her feel somehow… safe. 

This time there was no mistaking her movement. She rolled her ass against his groin as she stretched her neck, pulling against his hand over her mouth. It was a movement that had him pulling her torso sharply back against his, dragging her ear back to his lips where he breathed into it sending a shudder through her whole body. He then dragged his nose down the outer shell, nuzzling the sensitive skin there. The arm that had been wrapped around her ribcage squeezed tighter, his fingers splaying across her waist, gently digging into the flesh there. 

“This doesn’t seem like a good idea.” His velvety voice poured into her ear and his teeth scraped against the sensitive cartilage. Her breath hitched and she could feel herself grow wetter at the sensation. _Gods, this was crazy,_ she thought. 

“No, it probably isn’t. Fuck,” She groaned as his fingers dragged from her mouth to grasp her jaw, his fingers spreading as they then dragged down her neck. She gasped. It wasn’t rough, but it was controlling, demanding. She’d only ever been with soft-edged boys who were gentle and sweet. _This was not that._ And it astounded her how much it turned her on. 

“You’ll doubtless regret this when you can think more clearly.” He whispered in her ear again. “I never thought of you as reckless, Hermione.” She moaned in response, the sensation of his breath in her ear, the vibration of his voice, it caused her body to tremble against him. 

His hand made its way intently down to her breast, where he cupped and massaged it demandingly through the thin cotton material. She found herself arching into him, wanting more contact, more sensation. His hands were both rough and gentle at once. The hand on her abdomen had already found the hem of the shirt and began tracing teasingly beneath it. The feeling of his roving fingers on her bare skin was leaving an aching heat in their wake. In the meantime, his mouth had found her neck and he began trailing up her there, his lips insistent, small demanding kisses, his tongue slipping out to taste her. She realized she was making a dozen small noises, moaning and gasping under his ministrations, however, she just couldn’t find the energy to be embarrassed. 

“May be reckless,” she panted. “No regrets though. Regret’s useless.” She was trying to sound coherent. It was hard to put sentences together with his mouth on her neck; the sensations were taking over. “So tired of having good ideas.” Then she added, “Besides, I trust you.” 

He stilled, his lips pausing on her neck as her words hung in the air. His fingers still tracing circles on her bared abdomen. 

“I don’t know if your philosophy of regret makes you less intelligent than I always gave you credit for, though I admit it does sound somewhat freeing.” She might have been offended by his words if he hadn’t kept his tone teasing. Besides, she realized, that was practically an accolade, coming from him. But,” and here he paused, “I also suppose one doesn’t truly come to know real regret until it’s too late.” Hermione could hear a strange undercurrent in his tone. He completely ignored her statement about trusting him. 

Hermione was afraid to contemplate what he might regret in his life, and to what lengths. But, she swallowed, and put a bookmark in that thought trail. Now was not the time for that conversation. Not with his breath hot in her ear, his hand on her bare stomach, her body pressed against him. He seemed to feel the same, as he shifted his position creating a delicious friction. 

While his thick-fabricked pants had initially made it difficult for Hermione to discern his arousal, he was now pressed tightly against her and she could feel the iron length of him pressing between her cheeks. The feel of it caused her breathing to hitch and her mouth to go dry. His thumb traced over the elastic of her shorts, before slipping just under it and slowly sliding back and forth beneath the waistband. It was agonizing, but at the same time heightened the sensation, causing her whole body to ache with the want for more. But he went no lower. Although still insistent in his kisses and touches on her neck and upper body, he seemed perhaps hesitant to truly progress further. Or perhaps he was giving her opportunity to opt out. If so, it was too late for that. She was too far gone. She reveled in his teasing touch though, shivering as he caressed that threshold to the next level of intimacy; waiting for her to indicate her wishes. 

With one hand she reached back and threaded her fingers through his hair pulling his head towards her with urgency. With the other hand she pressed it over his hand where it idled at her waistband and pushed it slowly southwards, dragging the elastic down with it. This time she was certain he growled, though it morphed into a groan as her fingernails scraped down his scalp. Moving his hand with hers was so intimate, and made her feel heady with control. Her ears started ringing as his fingers pushed through the thin patch of curls at her apex. The blood was pounding so loudly for a moment she could hear nothing but its roar and feel the tingling of sensation where they touched, skin on skin. His finger dipped lower, this time without her guidance, and her breathing stopped as his middle finger slid into the slickness between her legs. His sharp intake of breath was a hiss as he felt the extent of her slipperiness and she felt his body tense behind her, a surge of desire coiling his muscles taut as he pulled her roughly and more tightly against him. He muffled a curse as he exhaled into her neck. 

Her mouth dropped open into an “oh” as his finger slid between her folds. When he pushed slowly inside her she moaned, throwing her head back against his shoulder. His movements were careful and deliberate, but hardly mechanical. He obviously knew the intricacies of a woman’s body, and Hermione couldn’t be more gratified. After the fumblings of boys her age, his experience made it clear that he knew exactly how she wanted and _needed_ to be touched. And she would relish this enlightening encounter. 

Her legs parted wider of their own accord, as he slipped between her folds, tracing up and over her clit teasingly before pushing his finger back inside her. With the other hand he continued to caress her breasts over the thin fabric, tracing gently over the nipples that had hardened with the stimulation. His mouth still teasing her neck and earlobe deliciously. Her body was on fire, every touch flaring through her like electricity. When his teeth scraped down the side of her neck to her shoulder her whole body shuddered and she pressed herself even more urgently against him. The fingers that were exploring the depths of her wetness retreated to pull one side of the elastic band down, and then the other until her shorts fell softly to the floor. The thin cotton bikini style panties she’d been wearing quickly followed. His fingers trailed beneath the cotton shirt and she raised her arms to let him lift it up and over her head. Somewhere along the way he must have removed his outer robes, and she could feel the buttons of his white shirt magically undoing themselves, pressing his bare chest against her back, the feel of skin on skin searing and soft. 

Her fingers reached up and behind her to tangle in his hair again. They traced down his neck to his shoulders, which she noted were surprisingly sturdy. Snape was wiry and lean, but apparently muscled, which she never would have guessed. His hands came up to tease down her arms and over her breasts, pulling her hips against his erection when they settled at her waist. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips as he ground against her. 

“Last chance,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety, but even deeper with arousal. “To avoid any regrets you might end up having.” Hermione’s mouth had fallen open and she was moaning as his fingers continued to explore the lengths of her body. 

“Don't you dare stop now,” she said half-panting. “So good,” she groaned incoherently. She could feel his answering smile against her neck where he trailed kisses, his fingers skimming her skin and teasing across her clitoris again. Her hips bucked back into his, making him chuckle, a low throaty sound that trickled down her spine. His hand came around and she heard the clink of his belt buckle coming undone. With his other hand he drew her arms up above her head, where he placed each one onto the lip of the bookshelf she was facing, curling her fingers around it in a grip. 

“You’re gonna want to hold on to something,” he purred into her ear. He then canted her hips a little further back towards him, pushing her stance a little wider. 

The first contact of the velvet soft skin of his erection against her folds had her choking back a sob of pleasure. It was burning hot and iron hard, and it lit up every nerve ending as it brushed over the skin around her slit. He ran his length over and through her folds several times until she was moaning uncontrollably. Then, ever so slowly, he found her opening and pushed the tip in. Then he pushed a little bit more, and a little more, until she could feel her body stretching around him trying to accommodate his size. When he pushed the last of him inside her she felt him bump against her cervix, and they both groaned. She felt so full and so good, the pleasure was beyond anything she’d experienced before. 

His body was wound tight as he restrained himself from moving until she’d adjusted. She wriggled her hips to shift her stance to feel more stable, pushing her hips back to take him as deeply as she could in the process. He couldn’t hold back a noise, and in retaliation retreated a moment before making a slightly forceful thrust back in. 

Hermione didn’t recognize the sound that came out of her mouth. She couldn’t help the moans falling from her lips. It felt so _very_ good. So he did it again. And again. Each time making another breathless sound. He would slowly pull out and thrust swiftly back in, jarring her as he bottomed out each time. He picked up the pace and force until her feet nearly left the floor with each slam, as his body lifted her, her grip on the shelves her only anchor. He punctuated every few hits by trailing his fingers over the nerves on her front, keeping her steadily building towards climax. Everytime he tapped her cervix, it was the most delicious mix of pleasure and pain. It made her feel feverish, hot and cold all at once. But oh gods she didn’t want him to stop. The feel of him inside her, sliding within her walls and pounding her from that angle had the tingling building throughout her whole body, a dam rising to the brink of bursting. 

Faster and faster he went, more inarticulate sounds coming from him as he filled her again and again. At last, she gasped and cried out, her whole body stiffening as the orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave. Holding off until hers crested, Snape grunted and emptied himself into her, slowly coming down from the euphoric high, their bodies continuing to rock slowly to a standstill. 

“Oh. My. Gods,” she exhaled and heard his answering huff of amusement. 

She must have lost some time, because she wasn’t sure how it had happened but he had managed to drag her body back to the couch and they lay nestled there on it together, the length of his naked body against hers, her face tucked into his chest, his arms around her. They both lay there breathing heavily, bodies hot and slick with sweat. 

“I had no idea it could be like that,” Hermione exhaled dazedly. 

She could feel his chest shake for a moment and hear the subtle smile in his voice. “It’s like anything, one can become proficient with enough practice, instruction, and intuition,” 

“Oh good,” She sighed. “That's my kind of subject.” 

“I didn't thinkthere was anything that would fall under ‘not your kind of subject,’” he answered dryly. 

“What, you aren't _aware_ of what happened in Trelawney’s class?” she asked, smirking. 

“Ah. Yes, but I assumed that was the only appropriate response from an intelligent human being when faced with that drivel. It certainly was once mine.” 

“So what does that make the rest of the school who sat her class?” She couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice. 

“You aren’t _aware_ of my views on the mental capacity of those attending our educational institutions? 

She couldn’t help the mirthful snort that escaped her. “Hmmm… I suppose I might have been tipped off from time to time. Did you really walk out of Trelawney’s class?!” 

“Yes.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but maybe also something a little sad. “She may have been a true Seer from time to time, but she was full of shit the rest of it.”

“Mmmmmp.” Hermione made a sound of agreement. “And even real prophecies are useless, as they’re almost always misunderstood. It’d be more helpful for them not to exist in the first place.” 

She thought he would make some sound of agreement, but instead he was silent. Her thumb ran small circles on the skin above his hip bone. It was soft and smooth. 

He sighed. “I should probably obliviate you, you know. For both our protection.” 

She startled at this new line of conversation. “Hmm. You’re worried about if I got caught?” 

“Hmmm. Now that I think it through, I suppose that if you were captured, you would have far worse secrets to hide, and if you surrendered those you would be dead, which I suppose would make my position moot anyway. So,” he drawled, “I suppose the point is _don’t_ get caught.”

“Ah, see I was confused about that detail,” she answered sarcastically. “Besides, if you obliviated me, I would probably still get turned on whenever anyone mentioned your name, which would be a very confusing response for me.” 

“But a beautiful legacy for me, of course. Probably the best I could hope for.”

She chortled into his chest at that. Then added more seriously, “We are grateful, you know. For what you are doing. For all you have done.” 

“I believe _‘we’_ might be a bit of an exaggeration…” 

She outright laughed at that. “Yes. And I’m sorry for that. Someday they’ll figure it out.” 

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he drawled. Then with a heavy sigh, “But alas, I do need to be getting back. I have a potion that needs tending again soon.” He paused, but finally finished, “Thank you, Hermione. It has been a great pleasure to be myself again for a moment.” 

Hermione rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him, soft brown eyes meeting black. “For me also.” Their eyes stayed locked for a long time, until they both finally blinked and sighed, steeling themselves to go back to their missions. Then, with a coy smile, Hermione glanced up at him and said with nonchalance, “So, maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” 


End file.
